


Refuge

by Celtic_Knot



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 02:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8038249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celtic_Knot/pseuds/Celtic_Knot
Summary: There’s never enough room in your arms for everything you want to project no matter how far you stretch. 

 
 
(Saitou and Hijikata working through the circumstances leading up to and immediately after Aburano Koji)





	Refuge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Findarato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findarato/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Hakuouki, nor did I in any way contribute to its creation. All rights go to their respective owners.
> 
> **WARNINGS:** Sexual content, mentions of canon typical violence
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Calenlass_Greenleaf! You are a wonderful, amazing, excellent person, and I am so grateful to be your friend! So here, have some Hijisai! Because nothing says "I appreciate you" like samurai guys.

* * *

 

Even a steady hand can be forced. Hit the right combination of circumstances and every option slips out of your fingers save for a knife with a spool of red thread tied to the hilt.

It would be a lie to say he didn’t expect it might come down to something like this. The only good way to keep a poisonous snake from returning to your house is to cut its head off. So that’s what they have to do. Stop the bite before it happens, because the Shinsengumi can’t afford to become sick with that kind of toxin. They’re already being pulled on. Their seams being tested. It’s Hijikata’s job to hold everything together, to protect what they’ve made, and what they have yet to accomplish.

Kondo-san is key in all of that. Their goal took two people to create, and he makes a better blade to Kondo’s ambition than the other way around. It’s best this way. He’ll deal in blood while Kondo deals in diplomacy and a the sort of honesty that has helped to draw in the comrades who built this dream on their backs. Lifting from the pasts, and offering a large stake of their future to a shared endgame.

A place they’ll never reach if this plan isn’t executed near perfectly.

Itou and the Guardians have to go before they strike against Kondo and the Shinsengumi.

That leaves him little time, and fewer options.

Carrying out this kind of work requires a precise hand. Blood is almost as slippery as secrets, and the type of grip it takes to hold on to both is not one easily acquired. Hardwon callouses create the friction necessary to hang on, but only when coupled with a quiet enough mind that won’t catch fire at the first signs of a threat. Part of him wishes he could carry this out himself.

He can’t. Even if the role of vice-commander didn’t demand his presence here...

His ability to paint over his stripes is far from convincing, he’s spent too long forging each and every one. There’s probably edges of steel in his skin catching the light, sharpest when you don’t know where skin ends and battle begins. Every movement creates cracks, and any facade he could conjure wouldn’t last nearly long enough for someone like Itou to buy into. As much as he’d love to watch Itou bleed himself out on those discoveries, there are things he needs to know first. Letters he needs to spill onto his desk to dissect, calendar dates that need pulled apart and parred down for the secrets hidden in lines and numbers.

It’s a meticulous task gathering those fragile pieces of knowledge. They bend into lies or misinformation the instant you apply too much force. Not enough force and you’re empty handed.

So of course he asked for Saitou.

Saitou whose immovable loyalty is such a part of him that it’s buried deep enough inside that it can be concealed behind an assortment of masks. It is impossible to tease Saitou and his commitment apart. They are one in the same. So if Saitou tells Itou that he is for his cause, then Hijikata doubts even those snake eyes will be able to tell the replica from reality. Itou is clever, but Saitou has a different kind of wit about him. In addition, he’s heard Itou has been admiring Saitou’s skill. And what’s there not to like? Itou enjoys collecting bright things that don’t belong to him. Saitou will be the worst gift he ever took for himself. This is the best match Hijikata can think of for this, as much as he questions whether sending any of his men at all is really the answer.

  
It is. Because the Shinsengumi’s life is potentially at stake. But asking this of any of their subordinates is a bitter nest of hooks to try and swallow. His throat is numb enough from commands he’s given, and commands he will give. There’s still not enough blood in his throat to upset his stomach, all questions aside. Shoved aside. Stuffed back into his desk drawer where he can debate them another day. Time didn’t used be so expensive. Weeks at Shieikan passed with an enviable ease compared to now.

For a second he thinks he hears stirring from the direction of Chizuru’s room. It wouldn’t be the first time she has been up late at night. The unpredictability that is her life with them is something he wishes he could pin down. Not because she needs it, her strength has proved otherwise, but because kind people are always running along the edge of wearing themselves down. She deserves some stability, but she chooses them even if there wasn’t really room to decide much of anything. Some nights he considers going to check on her, but another member of their troop has that duty covered. Easy smiles and warm words do her good. It’s a shame she’ll be without that one for the foreseeable future.

He makes a mental note to make sure she has things to keep her busy. It is not as though he enjoys drowning her in work, but she thrives on it. When her hands are still they find anxiety. He has watched her force her fingers to release wayward thoughts and pick up something productive again and again. Sadness is potent, but forward takes care of many things. The important things find places to go along for the ride while anything lesser drops away with distance.

He folds the notes whose ink has finally dried and tucks them away. Record keeping is tedious. His hands are covered with ink as often as they with blood. Someone has to put everything down on paper. Memories and information can die with people. Preservation is part of his job.

Everyday seems to escalate. Little snaps of electricity in the air coalesce into a storm that could wash them all right off the pages in a torment of water and war. Or it could burn them into memory. Veins lit up with lightning that leaves scorch marks mimicking a tree. Everything from the moment they took root extending into each individual branch. Destructive forces keep inviting them to dance, and Hijikata wants his men to have a single song to sit it out. There is no choice but forward. There is no where left to sit. It’s stand or fall.

“Fukuchou,” Saitou’s voice knocks against his door before his hand. It’s quiet, but clear. He’s right on time as he always is. Hijikata honestly has more faith in Saitou than the hands of a clock. Gears can jam, Saitou does not.

“Come in.” The invitation is hardly necessary. Saitou knows he is always welcome, but he always ask anyway. The observation of lines and spaces, sounds and silence… Saitou moves seamlessly between each. He’s never a disturbance when he doesn’t wish to be.

“I apologize if I am late.” Saitou shuts the door behind him, three more steps and he’s setting a cup of tea down in front of Hijikata. The wisps of steam point out the chill in the air that he hadn’t noticed until now.

“Thank you.” The warmth of the drink helps remind his bones that they’re filled with marrow and not steel. That’s somewhat of a shame in this case. All these uncomfortable fissures wouldn’t find places inside him. Nobody warns you when you reach for a dream that the growing pains transform into the kind of stretch that fractures and tears. Everything becomes a matter how quickly you can recover.

He has good men stitching any wounds closed. He can only pray that they don’t unravel themselves in the process. Scales are much harder to balance when he’s weighing friendship against leadership, and ashes against gunpowder. They are forced to make every exchange without any proof of what they’ll be given in return. Maybe they’ll be cheated out of everything in the end.

The chance that they won’t is worth taking. It’s too late to turn back now. They have too much in. The courage it takes to forge ahead is not something he plans to waste. Now the only question is how to win. How to keep as many lives as he can while needing those of their enemies to end.

Saitou sits in a perfectly balanced sieza. Half of him is lit from the candle that is dripping wax on Hijikata’s desk. The other half is covered in various shades of gray. Dark spots and shadows lift silver onto Saitou, and he’s daybreak and nightfall all in once instance. The contrast meets halfway across his face. There are the occasional small scars on Saitou’s hands, another just on the edge of his collar bone… They’re still relatively few in number compared to others in their profession. Saitou is not so much lucky as he is skilled.

“You’re aware about the situation with Itou.” He sighs. The discontent, the faction forming. All his captains know it. One is actually going to leave for it. This conversation has been hanging itself off his nerves since he had to grant Itou permission to leave and take men with him. “I have something I need to ask of you. ”

“Of course.” Saitou leans in a little closer, hands tightening almost imperceivable on his knees.

This is what makes this job so difficult, so wonderful… His subordinates, Saitou in particular, are always ready. Always willing.

“We know Itou’s not going to let things go so easily.” No. Itou is the kind to hoard information. To take what he saw and point it like a dagger at the core of the Shinsengumi. Hijikata intends to beat him to the slip of that blade. The Shinsengumi won’t end that way. He’ll ensure it. “But we need more information before we act.”

“I’ll do whatever I can.” His left hand creeps from his knee towards his hip. It’s a Saitou habit. Not an unconscious sword draw, it’s not that obvious. But Saitou reaches for that place even when his blade isn’t present. It’s a promise.

“I know.” Hijikata allows himself to smile for the first time this evening. The slight ache in his cheeks tells him he must have been frowning previously. Muscle aren’t fond of being forced from their memories.

It’s almost unnerving, how quietly Saitou waits for further instruction. Most men stir while they anticipate commands. There are some whose nerves jump into their fingers, others shift their weight around. Saitou remains ready, but unmoving. It’s discipline and patience and everything he is so very good at. It’s enviable. The bristles on his calligraphy brushes probably wish his hand was more like Saitou, less prone to shoving down on the page each time he becomes annoyed. If it’s a Souji day he can reach the point of completely ruining one.

But back to business. Because this kind of business is dirty, and the longer it sits the more it festers. The last thing Hijikata needs is for those kinds of clouds to build and make anymore of his men sick. Resolve can be afflicted just as the body can.

Proactivity is the best. Preemptive strikes have saved their skins more than once.

“I need you to spy on Itou.” It sounds so simple when condensed into seven little words. They slide off his tongue so quickly the knives in them could almost go unnoticed. Saitou doesn’t miss blades though. He arms himself with them. He’s the right choice.

Although he looks momentarily confused, tilting his head ever so slight while his fingers knot into the front of his kimono. “I will gladly help. But I must ask, aren’t the inspectors conducting an investigation?”

“That’s not exactly what I need from you.” Taking a sip of tea doesn’t do much to wash his mouth out. There is still too much to say that’s waiting with the same metallic taste that numbs his tongue. “You’ll defect to Itou’s Guardians. Or at least that’s what he’ll think. What I’m asking, is if you would be willing to infiltrate from the inside? It’s dangerous, and I won’t force you. But…”

_You’re the only who I can ask._

There is no immediate reply. Hijikata didn’t expect there would be. Saitou is always careful, in his words and in his actions. He can decide between life or death on the razor edge of a second, but when given the chance he is methodical. Saitou’s hands fold over each other, his eyes closing for a brief a moment. The neutrality of his expression takes on a new determination when his jaw tightens ever so slightly.

“I’ll do it.” The inflection of voice gives nothing away, nothing but certainty. That says enough for Hijikata. He’d like to think he knows Saitou well enough that if something were irreparably wrong with a situation, he’d be able to tell. It’s not that Saitou’s expressionless. It’s just that you have too look closer. His eyes are always full of so many shades of blue and shadows of battles passed that it’s easy to miss the subtler things.

“We think he’s planning to move against Kondo-san. The goal is to take care of him before that can happen, but we need to time it right. Which is where you come in.” He reaches into his desk for stack of papers containing all of the information Yamazaki had brought him earlier. It will be of more use to Saitou now than it is to him. His memory has already stored anything of use. Saitou takes it from his hand, and his fingers are warmer than Hijikata’s. Interesting. “This is all the information we have so far. Burn it before you go. Yamazaki will meet with you periodically at a various places away from headquarters. Can’t risk you getting seen around here.”

“When will I leave?” Saitou slips the information into the folds of his kimono. It’s probably for the best. If any of the other guys saw him walking around with it there might be questions. The less who know about this the better. Ideally it will stay between him, Saitou, and Kondo until right before they need to make their move.

“I don’t want to rush you out, but in three days.” It’s not much warning. Itou hadn’t given them much warning. Though neither did Sannan, but that’s neither here nor there. “Itou will be back in three days to collect any men who want to go with him. You’ll meet with him then.”

“That is fine. I don’t need long to prepare.” He reaches over to take Hijikata’s empty teacup and place it back on the tray beside him. The candle light follows his arm, eager to meet his wrist where his sleeve has slipped back. Even in simple movements there is strength when it comes to Saitou. He’s deliberate. He’s _convincing._ He’ll be safest among Itou’s men.

“I don’t want to send anyone to him. But I have no choice, and you’re the only option really.” And that is what has been so frustrating. Having to tie options to people and sort through each of them in a process of elimination. Who is trustworthy enough. Who can fight well enough. Who will stay silent about Shinsengumi secrets if the worst were to happen. Who is most most believable.

“Fukuchou, it is no trouble.” Saitou is like him. He’d rather be the one to carry this kind of work out rather than pin it on someone else. He glances out the window, and it rearranges light and dark on his face like the puzzle pieces that have gone into this whole ordeal that has yet unfold.

He often wonders what the hell he did to deserve this kind of loyalty. Saitou never tells him beyond that they welcomed him. It has to be more than that. Or maybe not. Saitou amplifies the value of anything he touches.

“I know, thank you. I hate having so few options. Souji is sick, Shinpachi and Harada are too obvious, and Heisuke is all mixed up…” _And Heisuke. What is he going to do with Heisuke?_ His hand tangles in his hair, stuck between brushing it back or pulling on it.

The wind is rattling one of the doors outside, and it sounds too much like opening and closing. Like someone going. He wants that door reinforced against more than just the chill of the night air that slips under it.

“About Heisuke-” It’s a difficult topic. Saitou picks it up slowly. Taking that concern from his lips and transforming it into the conversation they need to have. It’s not a simple task, it’s enough to make Saitou shift back and tense his lips from the aftertaste of the thoughts they’re both having. “How would you like me to handle him?”

Heisuke _trusts_ Saitou. They’re friends.

Hijikata has seen that respect and comradery grow from the day Heisuke greeted their new arrival years ago. And now he has to decide where Heisuke’s life sits in the balance of everything they’re trying to juggle should they have to drop a ball. How did it come to the decision Heisuke made? Why didn’t anyone notice sooner, it’s not as though Heisuke has ever been the subtle type. His honesty is as obvious as the color of his eyes, and he’s so filled with kindness that the instant he started spending more time alone should have stuck out.

It should have, but it didn’t.

They have all been busy. Distracted.

It’s costly, and Hijikata doesn’t want to make Heisuke pay for that alone. Not that kid, not one of his captains, one of the family. Still, if it’s Kondo and the Shinsengumi or letting Heisuke fall to whatever fate they may have to hand to the Guardians- It’s a nonstarter. There is no choice there, but that doesn’t change anything about the way dread curls up inside his ribs and melts over each bone. Nothing left untouched.

But maybe he’s jumping to the worst case scenario too quickly. They’ll cross cross those bridges when they come to them, flaming or otherwise. Saitou’s findings and time will tell.

He exhales, “I’ll leave Heisuke to your discretion. But don’t tell anyone about your mission. That is strictly between Kondo, you, and myself. There’s no need to get everyone worked up just yet.”

“I understand.” Saitou chooses the pace of his words carefully, timing every syllable and every pause for breath. He’s meticulous, but there are hardly ever any outward signs of the effort it takes to maintain that level of composure, “I will try to do what I can for Heisuke without revealing enough to put him in more danger.”

When he reaches to brush his ponytail over his shoulder, Hijikata can’t help but notice that he moves as though there is the weight of his sword in his hand rather than his hair. Hijikata understands. The tension before battle is so ingrained in each of them. When faced with something like this the safest places to reach for are the parts of themselves that know what to do, know where to cut, and how to parry.

“Make sure you look out for yourself too.” Saitou’s care tends to extend so far to others that he runs out of rope to catch himself with. He’s the kind to take the fall because his bones breaking doesn’t hurt as badly as watching someone else skin their knee. It’s exasperating. It’s also probably their best chance, “I want you both to come back in one piece.”

Sentimentality doesn’t have a place in incoming wars, or late night battle plans. The Shinsengumi is home though, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try to project each member. He can’t afford that idealism in front of most of the troops, but his desires are safe here. Saitou shares them. Neither of them will risk the Shinsengumi’s survival. Neither of them want to see Heisuke dead. Saitou will make the right decisions when he has to pick what to save and what to sacrifice. There’s never enough room in your arms for everything you want to project no matter how far you stretch.

Choices. It’s always choices even when there aren’t any.

“I will do everything in my power.” Saitou nods, allowing his hands to open from where they’d been folded on his lap.

Those words aren’t much of a promise. The power of single person is overwhelmed so often. It doesn’t matter how strong your will is if you’re outnumbered enough. Or if you’re caught in a moment of surprise. Or if you can’t save both yourself and your objective, and the latter can’t be compromised. Most everyone tries their best to live, and to fight. There are enough graves to prove that sometimes your best just isn’t good enough. Someone else’s edge is sharper. Hijikata has given his fair share of promises, has assigned weight and sincerity to each one. He has also been handed razor blades folded up in the silk of spoken words.

It’s different when it’s on Saitou’s lips.

When it's the cadence of Saitou’s voice, it manages to loosen up some of the tension in his chest that has been choking off his thoughts to the point he has been dealing with such a damn headache. When Hijikata counts the cards stacked in the Shinsengumi’s favor, he counts Saitou twice. These men are more than he ever expected when he started out on this journey.

Somewhere in the halls he hears a few bumbling steps winding their way out of one of the bedrooms. Probably Shinpachi or Heisuke going to get some water. The sounds are soothing tonight. Mundane life activities that remind him his men and Chizuru are all here and safe (for now). Part of him wants to step out into the hall, see who it is, bark at them to get back to bed-

It seems there is truth some to Souji’s accusations of him being a mother hen. He wishes Souji’s voice didn’t rasp when he tries to tease them all. Souji’s continued illness is one more thing that has wired itself into his jaw, tugging until his teeth grind. Nothing touches it. Not his family’s special powder. Matsumoto-sensei’s concoctions only work marginally better. There’s the fear that if Souji can’t fight, Souji won’t live. The sickness won’t be the fatal the blow so much as the crack to something far deeper inside. He doesn’t realize he’s clenching his fist until his nails start to dig into his skin with enough force they’ll leave a mark.

Tonight he has plans to iron out, and those wayward thoughts are poorly timed.

Focusing on Saitou is easier.

Saitou looks nothing like all the paperwork on his desk, even though he is full of just as many words. He is sharp like Hijikata’s sword, but he can do so much more than cut. He’s an anchor in all this. Saitou who gives everything and never asks him for anything. It would be so easy to slip into taking advantage of that dedication. Saitou welcomes any requests, Hijikata tries to use them as sparingly as possible. Each person is only give so many minutes on earth, and he doesn’t want to use Saitou up. Rasetsu aren’t the only ones who can burn out.

“I’d like to hear your opinion on this mess.” Kondo has left this whole matter up to Hijikata’s discretion. There isn’t always the luxury of enough time for a second opinion, so he’ll jump on the chance now. Maybe save Chizuru worrying about premature gray hairs on his head if Saitou’s insight that can save him the stress of extra doubts. Doubt is a part of leading. It’s one of his least favorite parts. One of those things you do your best to kill in its tracks.

Saitou rocks his weight back as though he might want to shift into a more comfortable position. He doesn’t. Instead he takes one deep breath, then two, and squares his shoulders. “I think Fukuchou will handle it as best as possible.”

“I hope so, but your opinion matters. We only have one shot at this.” No matter how this turns out there will be losses. The minimization of the risks while achieving the intended goal is the hope.

Funny how much danger resists being restrained so that you can analyze it. It shifts when you stare at it too hard, and slips through your fingers when you try to lift it to check how much it weighs. Maybe Saitou’s eyes can catch moments and outcomes that he hasn’t seen yet. No one blames a commander for mistakes made as much as that commander blames himself. Or at least that’s Hijikata’s experience. Following orders, or following a map right to the underworld. There’s hardly a difference sometimes.

“Itou began soliciting men for his faction almost immediately after joining. I do not believe he ever intended to assist us.” It’s a bold accusation, but Saitou would know. He’d been one of the ones Itou desired. This instance is also the first hint of anger Hijikata has seen today. Barely registerable. Just enough that it slides through Saitou’s teeth and over his jaw.

Traitors of Itou’s kind spit on the home Saitou found for himself. When you’ve been denied a place for so long, that becomes unforgivable. It’s a warm place in Saitou’s heart that’s also capable melting metal into molten piles of goop. All impurities exposed.

“He tried Shinpachi and Harada too. Never bothered with Souji, for many reasons probably.” Hijikata almost wishes he had gone to ask gone to ask Souji. He probably wouldn’t have gotten ten words before Souji sunk his claws in. As much as Souji can be an infuriating bastard, he goes right for the jugular when it comes to any threat to Kondo. It could have saved them all this headache.

“I believe he was always looking for a way to dismantle us later after taking what he could. The incident with Sannen-san gave him an especially good excuse.” Saitou pauses, tossing different words against the roof of his mouth while he waits for one to stick. It’s never easy to articulate just what goes into stealing loyalty and breaking trust. There’s too many dangling threads to give the noose a name. “I think it’s wise to move against him before he attempts anything against us.”

“That’s about what I’ve been thinking. Hearing it from you only confirms it.” It’s easy to get swept up in the adrenaline that comes with a perceived threat. It can make you see blades that aren’t there so that you miss the dagger in the other hand. Saitou dispels those concerns when he matches Hijikata’s vision. It does however make him wonder, “I wish we could have convinced Kondo-san to can him sooner.”

“It is unfortunate it has come to this, but there are ways to survive it.” Conviction is important. Saitou has that. Has faith that there are enough routes for them to get through this, just as they survived all the messy knots looped around their beginning.

It’s easier to see the positive outcomes when Saitou not only wears candlelight, but glimmers of broken stars shoved into skin. Each one proof that life continues even when cracked. The Shinsengumi can splitter without spilling everything they have into obscurity. They don’t need to avoid scars or even severed limbs so long as the core of them continues. That is what is important. That’s what each of them use to illuminate their path in the midst of a foggy evening.

“I’m counting on you.” The words aren’t required. Saitou knows. Saitou stands firm against each and every pressure placed on him with or without Hijikata noticing. That kind of forbearance is what any commander longs for. There are so few troops you can stick in a lightning storm, and trust them to take each flash and redirect it. To channel everything that threatens to burn up their being into a brutal fighting strength. To take where they’re been and lend those kilometers of experience to everyone they touch.

“Thank you, Fukuchou.” It’s the gentle bow as much as the certainty in the way Saitou strings words that braid together a rope Hijikata trusts. Saitou will be far away in place more than distance, but he’ll still be tied to them. With Yamazaki acting as go-between he can tug that line and call him back should the situation require it. Sometimes carrying a man out of bad situation takes as much strength as sending one in. The arms that lift stretchers are most tired. He’ll do his damndest to avoid that when it comes to Saitou.

“You’re free to go then.” It’s well past the time they should both be trying to rest. A selfish part of himself wouldn’t mind keeping Saitou here tonight if for no other reason than knowing someone is there to bounce thoughts off of who won’t fall over when hit with the heaviest parts of Hijikata’s mind.

Saitou rises to leave with just as much quiet precision as he entered with. The way the shadows move to keep up with him is the noisiest part of the whole ordeal. Goodnights are passed quickly. If his eyes aren’t lying then Saitou is just a touch sluggish. Tiredness is excepted. Saitou allowing him to see that brief moment of sleepiness is rare. Saitou has been a master of walls and masks for so long. Not out of deception, but in a honest attempt to be the most useful he can be. He’s become more open with all the men now. It’s a nice change.

A nice break from the tasks awaiting him.

In a few days from now he’ll stand in front of the Shinsengumi and watch Itou take his group, and allow those standing behind him to use his shoulders to hold their uncertainty.

~~~

There are failed plans and failures, and those are not always the same things. One is more devastating than the other. A set course of intended actions always has room to fray into strips not capable of holding the original intentions. Usually you can salvage bandages or blindfolds from what’s left and life moves on. New fabrics can be created. More hours can be sewn through troops and fields. It works. So long as you have enough left to catch a falling body, there’s a way to continue.

It’s the other type of failure that he dreads. The kind that originates in him but binds others because a leader’s mistakes are always rippling. They ring around each and every person in his pool, and sometimes the shock creates waves large enough to drown. And you can’t fish everyone out. Forward, always forward. Too bad knowing the direction to travel doesn’t give his hands the ability to resuscitate the losses he refuses to cut. Some things, some people, are of too much value. He knows the calculations, but he can’t place a name into variables. Not even the demon vice-commander is that cruel. His fingers can still feel the difference between the warmth under a pulse and the coolness of life moved on.

Until that sense dulls to nothing then he will feel. And that’s ok. Staying human only grows into more and more of a feat each day. He’s grateful for this much.

They succeeded, on the one hand.

Itou is dead. The Guardians are disbanded, many of their members also dead. Partly in thanks to those damn demons and the new Satsuma-Choshu alliance. Both of which are headaches for the Shinsengumi, but the elimination of one of their other enemies is a bright spot in those gathering storm clouds. Itou had been even more brazen than he expected. Saitou brought him home news of a planned assassination of Kondo. It was sooner than Hijikata figured Itou would move. Itou had seemed like the type who would have liked to pick off less important pieces first.

His mistake. Saitou caught him, but he never caught Saitou.

That part of their plan went off without a hitch. Every message Saitou brought home was delivered with both Saitou and the information perfectly intact. And that had continued like clockwork until it was time. Everything in their planning said it should have worked perfectly. Itou dead, and then a confrontation with the remaining members of the Guardians who would still be reeling from the newly discovered loss of their leader. Cutting off a vital part of any body of people spells chaos, and Hijikata’s men read the chaotic better than most. It should have been their edge.

It should have been the Shinsengumi with the sparks of surprise at their backs, and knowledge of what was about to happen strung around their wrists where they could feel every tug or vibration indicating a change in the battle. Those threads got crossed and then cut thanks to their surprise interruptions. Abarano Kouji had shrunk smaller and smaller with every new enemy who surged in, before the demons stole the last bit of oxygen needed to ignite it all. No where to move, and the ink from the plans he’d draw had become slippery under his men’s feet.

Battle can change with the wind, but change and risk are not necessarily directly proportionate.

His risks were calculated, but why does it feel like they were robbed blind and left hung out to dry.

The bristles on his brush fray from the pressure that’s biting into both the paper and his wrist. One bristle falls into the wet ink, but he doesn’t bother trying to rescue it. There is too much that keeps his hand moving from one line to the next trying to put every memory to paper. Things that occurred tonight will change them, the Shinsengumi. It leaves a bitterness in the earth they’ve stood on, and he can start to see it crack from the taste. How fast can they build bridges? How many strings does he need to hold his men to their lives so that they don’t walk off and die for nothing. Because there is a difference between dying for your convictions, and running into your death. That’s what he told Ryunosuke once.

There were deaths today. Both literal, and something worse.

Granted, the casualties that fell to their invited guests were not as many as they could have been all things considered.

But trying to rationalize the loss of life just never works quite the way you intend. The more he tries to wrap logic around it, the more it bends and bleeds.

Tonight would be a good night for a drink were responsibility not waiting at the bottom of any glass he could touch. He’d probably end up smashing the glass anyway. Accidentally or otherwise. His emotions are in flux. From quieting down to the compressed lull that years of practice have taught, to roaring back to life with enough force crash his head against the words on his desk. There’s no actual contact. No real bruise. That makes it worse.

No, he’ll stay sober so he can be sure to document every single fact he heard and witnessed.

His desk drawer sticks for a second, and he pulls hard enough that it almost comes completely free of the desk itself. By contrast, the manner in which he sorts through each ink stick is much quieter. Weighting each one as if the number of grams can tell him which shade of black is most appropriate for this occasion. Some are smoother than others. More pigmented than others. He’ll write down everything Saitou said, everything Shinpachi and Sanosuke saw… The demons’ interest in Chizuru. The bullet hole Shiranui had put in his own “ally.” Then, later, when his head stops pounding he can pour over this notes. Touch each word’s meaning, and try to translate that into their future.

It’s a learning process. Most things are.

Lessons are non returnable, however.

Hijikata would love to hand back certain scraps of knowledge:

What Souji looks like with blood on his hand from his own mouth.

The way Shinpachi’s anger shapes itself when he’s directing it at one of their own. And how Sannan-san had not even responded to that heat.

Heisuke’s voice when it's wrenched around pain, and grief, and a shadow of madness.

None of these things will ever leave him. He supposes that that’s for the best. The only way he would truly want to give those memories away is that if by selling off his mind’s copies he could retract the events themselves. This way he’ll bear it. He’ll put up braces and lay out blankets. Try to recreate some sort of comfort for everyone under his care.

They’re not children, they’re warriors.

Wishing for their happiness is still something he can’t avoid.

“Fukuchou” He hadn’t heard footsteps at his door, but Yamazaki has always been good at going unheard when he wants to. It makes him a good spy. It also makes him easy to forget for some. Hijikata never forgets him. He’s the kind of man that makes depending on him simple.

“It’s fine.” There’s not as much for Yamazaki to interrupt as there maybe should be. His notes stalled out before he ran out of ink. Something else ran dry first, and that might be the root of his headache.

Yamazaki steps through the doorway, sliding the door shut quickly behind him, “I’m here to report back.” Some of the matters he has to report on should not be overheard. The orders had been given for the captains to keep all the regular recruits far away from his office, and from where Heisuke is recovering from his life altering transformation. The same transformation that turns Hijikata’s ribs into bindings. Bruised lungs ache every time he inhales. The pain isn’t a bad thing. It keeps him focused. Drive helps to counterweight the frustration that is so tempting.

“Go ahead,” _Thank you_ is somewhere on his tongue, but he pins it away because it is too difficult to be grateful for words he hasn’t heard yet, even if Yamazaki’s efforts are appreciated. Information is a vital part of the Shinsengumi’s blood. Shuttling different facets of them and their cause to each limb. “How is he?”

“Heisuke seems to have gotten through the worst of it. After a spell of extreme aggression, he calmed and was able to fall asleep. The fever is under control for now. Harada and Shinpachi are keeping watch. Yukimura offered to take a turn.” The words are chosen specifically. An arm’s length away from the tongue presenting them. It’s the pace too. Each one almost unnaturally separated from the word prior. It’s recognizable as a tactic to disguise emotion. Yamazaki gives himself, and Hijikata, half a moment of something more than concealment, “He didn’t go mad.”

“So far so good then. Heisuke is stubborn, but we’ll be prepared for the worst. Tomorrow will decide for certain.” Part of him doesn’t believe a word of what he says about worst case scenarios. That is the part of him that says Heisuke sacrificed everything but the physical beat of his heart, and not even their lives are cruel enough to take more than that. The practical side, his right side, says that nothing is promised. But if he’s made it this far… Then there is room to hope he’ll survive, whatever survival means to him now.

“I will check on him again in a hour or so.” Yamazaki bows his head slightly. It’s respect, but also anxiety hidden in the bend of muscles and the tightening of his jaw. It’s not as subtle as he knows how to be. Hijikata has no reprimands for him. All their nerves are raw tonight. Exposure creates a translucent effect they’re not used to seeing on each other.

“I don’t want Chizuru alone with Heisuke until tomorrow. The last thing we need is a repeat of Sannen-san. Shinpachi and Sanosuke can take turns watching him.” They need to sleep, but between the two of them they can manage. They’re upset. They’re shaken. But they’re fiercely loyal, and protective of their brother figure. They’ll do whatever is asked of them by Heisuke and his condition.

“I’ll inform them.” Trusting these matters to Yamazaki always brings him some relief. Yamazaki carries out orders efficiently. Delegating is a balance that he is not yet perfect at. Nobody ever mentions how making these decisions is more demanding than you as a person could ever hope to be.

Yamazaki rises to bring his words to the men who need to hear them.

“One more thing.” The request jumps off his tongue before he has enough time to consider all of the things it carries with it. “Send Saitou in.”

“I’ll find him now.” Yamazaki is off quickly. Saitou is probably helping out one of the guys, or maybe he’s with Chizuru. He’ll be nowhere Yamazaki wouldn’t think to look.

Asking for Saitou is like requesting a gentle rain, and actually being able to receive it. There is no one particular reason he wants to see him. All reports of what was seen in that alley way today have already been given, and he’s dismissed almost everyone to go rest for the night. Save for the few unlucky ones he needs to keep watch. Maybe it’s because he wants a wall. Something sturdy to lean against that won’t topple over. If he throws anything at Saitou too hard, it will fly back with enough force to knock him down. And that wouldn’t come from any sort of aggression, just from the simple way that Saitou can contort himself into a blade to slice almost any palm, but his edge is only sharp when it’s aligned with his beliefs. Should Hijikata ever throw too many forging flames at him, he’ll be met with blunt force.

Getting the wind knocked out of you is a good way to remind your lungs of everything you need air for. Spots that dance behind your vision mark places you have been, and places you need you to go. It’s the hope that should he ever begin to stray too far, that he’ll be pinned against stone hard convictions until his spine brings itself back to alignment. Pain has been a decent teacher throughout his life. So has listening. And failing. And many other innumerable little things that he has set out by his window so that no morning comes where they aren’t brought into bright focus. Sun beams make good fingers for pointing to this and that and that.

His hands get bored of drumming against his desk. The only rythmes he has in his bones are the ones that march you off to places that he has already been to today. Reaching back to straighten his ponytail is something slightly different. Hair at least is soft in texture. There is no mixing it up with rope or rawhide. Clarity of mind, and clarity of sensation are not so far apart. Small blessings. He knows he’s not the only one of the men here who takes time after battle trying to separate his own pulse from the thrum of a fight. To return to the flow of regular time and not of the various veins of action. Muscles are not quick in releasing the adrenaline they beg for.

Part of him still wonders if Aburano Kouji is considered a battle or just a damn trap. The sacrifice makes him say battle, the odds clawing their way out of shadows say trap. A trap they set for Itou, and walked right into themselves. Although that walk was not entirely blind.

The door opens, but there is no announcement to accompany it sliding shut. Hijikata knows it’s Saitou before he even looks up from his desk, the first glance sews a gratefulness into his sleeves so that it brushes against his arms with each motion he makes. Turning himself to face Saitou isn’t difficult, and he’d rather not have to keep his eyes on the wax dripping down his candle. There’s a sense of deja vu suspended in the moment Saitou kneels down across from him.

“Yamazaki said you needed me.” Saitou’s voice matches his appearance. It’s almost normal, but not quite perfect. There’s tiredness that slows his lips ever so slightly. A few strands of hair are outside his ponytail. Maybe they fell out, maybe Saitou rushed to put himself back together before coming. He has washed the blood and dirt off at least. All that has done is reveal where the hours upon hours he has been awake have signed shadows across his face.

“Yes. I hope he didn’t pull you from anything important.” Hijikata knows Saitou is hardly ever idle. There is always some task he bends himself too. Training, cooking, checking on the injured, making sure Chizuru has had at least one reason to smile that day.

“If I am needed, I have no problem setting aside other things.” His hands fold and then unfold. There’s something uneasily peaceful about whatever mood Saitou has carried in with him. Paradoxical even. Or maybe he’s just picking up lines of the knots Hijikata has been working through. He pauses, and continues, “I was with Souji.”

It makes sense. In all this chaos it is easy to lose track of how many hours Souji has had to spend lying in bed trying to recover from the illness that just keeps on coming back for more. Every good day seems to be met with a string of bad ones. Souji’s belligerence when it comes to anything medical only worsen the concerns. Kondo is beside himself, Hijikata wants to shove the whole bottle down his throat… Chizuru and Heisuke can pester him into taking care of himself sometimes- Saitou is the only one who can level with Souji. Hijikata had referred to Saitou as a playmate for Souji once. It’s fitting, although overly simplistic.

They do each other good.

“He hasn’t been too much of a brat?” Not that Souji’s antics ever bother Saitou the way they grate on Hijikata’s nerves. What he actually wants to hear is that Souji was as obnoxious as possible. If he’s joking and arguing and being a pest then he’s alive.

Saitou adjusts his scarf briefly, “He was somewhat irritable when I first arrived. I did convince him to eat some food with his medicine.”

“Thank you. I had to listen to Matsumoto-sensei ranting about difficult it is to convince Souji to take care of himself.” Rants from medical personnel are something he has to listen to more than he’d like to. Injuries abound, this illness. Even Chizuru can get plenty stern when it comes to health.

“It was no trouble.” Saitou is softer here. His care for all of their comrades is one of the things Hijikata appreciates most, “I believe he has his own way of fighting it.”

“Fighting is what he does best.” In every sense of the word. Maybe if Souji had been out there this evening it would have helped turn things more in their favor. Or maybe he would have ended up dead or a rasetsu. Odds like to stick their tongues out at Hijikata it seems.

Saitou nods, then shifts his weight around. Probably to give his knees a little relief, but also to change the angle of his observation, “How can I help?”

Saitou is reading words Hijikata doesn’t remember speaking, or writing, or even thinking. But Saitou sees them on him, and so they’re there. Saitou has good eyes. And he doesn’t mind it. Not the words, nor the offer. He did ask for Saitou afterall. Poor guy is probably wondering what task he has for him now. Although, Saitou never seems to get worked up over any potential danger. He simply meets each moment head on.

Is it inappropriate to say he just needs some company that isn’t ink and paper?

“I hadn’t seen you since we returned.” - _And you helped lay Heisuke down so Sannen-san could tell us the only choice left..._ Saitou had disappeared shortly after they’d all been ushered out of the room save for Sannan-san, and the other parts of the Baka Trio, “ I never got to ask your thoughts on the turn of events.”

There is a moment where Saitou’s lips pull, trapping his words against his teeth. The force of the incoming reply runs down his arms to where his fingers have laced into each other. Saitou has many words, worthy of many things. He doesn’t share many of them all that often. Their value is not something Saitou sees as readily as those he speaks to. Everyone’s voice sounds different in their own ears. Hijikata wishes Saitou could hear his own from an outside perspective, just once. Then he’d know. He makes a great comrade and friend. He’d probably be a strong and steady leader too. Quietness doesn’t change anything about strength and dependability. Those details can only be torn out by one’s own hands, and not their sounds.

Pressure can break a commander. It’s always his own feet that initiate the fall though. That is why Hijikata insists on always walking.

Saitou helps. The weight of his presence counters the weight of the iron left by evaporated blood.

“There were things I had hoped we could have avoided.” They’re all a bit emotional today it seems. Nothing overt in the choice of words itself, but it’s _everything_ else. The way Saitou stares directly into the candle flame for a moment, and how his thumb traces the life line across his opposite palm, “But that is the nature of battle. Itou’s faction has been eliminated. We gained some knowledge of the danger Satsuma and Choshu’s alliance poses.”

“And that those damn demons are helping them.” Fucking Kazama’s two cronies, showing up and touching what they need to keep their hands away from.

Chizuru has been going round and round in her head with what they want with her, if there was anyway she could have used that to strike a deal with them to spare some of the lives lost today. Hijikata has seen it. Wanted to talk to her about it, but trying to discuss those things too soon only makes the knots tighter. Better let her find her footing first. The supposedly less violent one did more than enough violence to his youngest captain. He’d love to slice that guy’s hands off at the wrists. The whole arms as weapons and self-healing poses one more headache he still has to plan around.

“I apologize that I did not know anything about their involvement with enemies of Itou’s.” Regretting one’s lack of knowledge is nothing new, but Saitou can’t be held accountable for information that never passed anywhere near his fingertips. There was no way he could have guessed the extent of that snare.

The tightness balling itself into Saitou’s shoulders bothers him enough that words come sharper than he intends, not at Saitou but at tonight. “You’re not a mindreader. You did everything the Shinsengumi could have asked of you”

“It was not as much as you credit me for.” Saitou shakes his head slightly, and the light runs further down his throat, hiding itself behind his scarf along with his breath.

“And it was more than you credit yourself for, so we’ll agree to meet in the middle.” If his tongue weren’t so twisted up around what is either lead or the bitterness of the tea he’d tried to make himself, he might laugh at the way Saitou almost startles before nodding in agreement. Arguing with his commander is something Hijikata has not yet provoked from Saitou. Maintaining worthiness of his men’s support helps him to keep on their path. Saitou’s support holds him to an especially high standard.

There are seconds where he reaches for words, but either those words or his fingers are too transparent to make the connection. He can’t grab them and guide them into his throat. Saitou’s eyes definitely follow his attempts. Letting someone see him coming up short is something he prefers to avoid. Here, it doesn’t bother him quite as much. His only question is as to what Saitou is following around his head and over his heart. Saitou is a favorite of many of the captains for entrusting with their thoughts. What they may or may not realize, is that Saitou keeps those scraps of memories and presents tucked away afterwards. He guards the process of trust, and not just the result.

Hijikata has never asked for that kind of safekeeping. It’s a luxury that a farmer turned samurai doesn’t get to count on. Just like his subordinates don’t get to count on being lead safely from point a to point b-

“It was not your fault, Fukuchou.” Slicing the air is easy when the firmness of Saitou’s voice crystallizes. He is not angry, if anything he’s cutting back wires of _what-if_ so that the bruising grip is taken off of Hijikata’s throat.

Fresh air helps him remember the impossibility of trying to hold everything in a single pair of hands. But the impossibility does not free him of everything. No bargain is that complete.

“Which part?” Guilt is something he turns away at the door. It’s too cloudy to allow it near. But responsibility is another beast entirely. Fault and blame tumble through the cracks somewhere in between.

“The casualties, the demon’s showing up, Heisuke.” Saitou swallows on the last part of the name. Heisuke is crushed by _dead_ on his right, and _alive_ on his left.

“I still have to plan his funeral, you know.” Something bubbles in his throat. It almost punches its way out a few times before it makes it passed his lips in a cross between cracked laughter and exhaustion. “I have to find and send word to his family. Get people together to mourn a guy who's still kicking. What the hell kind of job is that?”

“An unpleasant one. I will help if you let me.” Saitou’s hand finds its way across the debris he has been sitting among to rest a hand on his knee. He gives it a gentle squeeze.

Saitou’s fingers punch tiny holes that allow some of the anger to run out of his veins. He’s pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t yet corrosive enough to rot the floor out from beneath them. Shoving everything behind his back to keep their banner high takes up energy. Energy that Saitou helps create room for among a cluster of forces that knock from one artery to the next.

“You already help more than your fair share.” His hand slides down from his desk to his thigh. He wants to touch the back of Saitou’s hand, let him feel the weight of _fair_ because it’s not as easy to keep balanced on your shoulders as the sound of the word itself would make you think.

“And I am willing to give more, if you wish.” Earnesty is a specially that Saitou keeps tucked up in the hinge of his jaw where friction sometimes grinds it into silence, but the remaining powder is just as potent. Is Saitou closer now? Probably, it’s just a touch hard to judge between the man in front of him, and the shadow behind him. Saitou exists between spaces.

“I won’t demand anything of you.” Now he does allow himself to touch Saitou. Quickly, just brushing the backs of his knuckles with his thumb. The warmth of skin makes a good signpost for the end of battle.

Better yet is what Hijikata doesn’t have to say.

There is something lost whenever he has to use his voice for force. Dependable authority builds itself on positive or negative images hung into reality. What fewer people see is the use of bones being stacked to create the frames. Hijikata has always tried to never take what isn’t given to him by those who have intrusted themselves to their collective cause. There are things you don’t take, and then other things that you accept.

Acceptance has added a few lines to his palms. There are signatures there that he has had written on him as proof of exchange.

A promise he has not taken without trying to give in return. That he understands the difference between a gift and a loan.

“You never do.” Saitou turns his hand over, and Hijikata almost pulls back because Saitou’s grip might just drag him places. But Saitou places are places he doesn’t mind going. Because Saitou wants him there, just like Saitou wants to be _here._ And that is why Saitou doesn’t seem to consider any of Hijikata’s orders a demand. His will is so aligned with the Shinsengumi, and demand implies an ultimatum that isn’t there. Has never been there.

One of his favorite memories from Shiekan is how Saitou grew close to all the other men. One by one, each new friendship mediated by different parts of themselves reaching towards each other. Saitou has something special that people need. But Saitou had needed them too. Gratitude fills in where _hello_ can’t quite reach. It’s a complete circle.

“There isn’t much to help now is there? What’s done is done.” Done isn’t defeat. And single ends, aren’t a collective end. Continuing is an option he still takes, will always take- But some threads have been cut off, and they’re starting to fray out of the braid that forms their rope. The only thing to do is burn those ends in hopes that they’ll stop running up towards the knot that holds it all together.

“That is true. However, you are not done.” Saitou looks him over, from his face to his hands and back up. There’s subtly to him that Hijikata thinks would be well suited to poetry were he a bit more talented in those matters. Tracing Saitou onto a piece of paper would be a challenge for certain. Something is always lost in the journey between here and there, but everything caught in each stroke of the brush would mark something unique to each second of Saitou. Not just the way it all fits together into one person.

Still, it’s easier to appreciate what sits directly in front him.

“That’s right, I’m not. So you can stop worrying.” Half of him cringes at the roughness each syllable bumps across. Reassurances go places without his permission, and come back to his tongue sounding like something else. It’s a learned habit. Scraping sentiments over rock and steel until they are striped down to only the most necessary parts.

For what it’s worth, Saitou’s expression doesn’t waver. If anything he almost smiles. Maybe. It’s difficult to tell whether that was a smile or relief, or something else. All of the above probably. He’s not drunk, but the start of rain outside blends itself into the fabric on fabric friction of Saitou’s sleeve brushing across his. Each new sound wraps itself around his head. White noise. Or maybe blue noise. What defines color’s relation to sound? Hell if he knows.

“Tomorrow will be easier. It is the not knowing, isn’t it?” Shoulders rise and then drop with the breath Saitou takes. His hand traces along the edge of Hijikata’s desk.

He’s right though. What bothers Hijikata more than what went wrong tonight, is not being able to guarantee exactly the state the Shinsengumi will greet tomorrow in. It’s only a few hours away, but trying to control seconds is hard. Trying to control minutes is harder. Attempting to bend these next few hours in the favor of his men is near impossible. All he can do is wait, and waiting will not hold Heisuke’s mind in place, or ease Souji’s breath, or return Sannan-san to himself, or find Chizuru’s father. When the sun comes back around he can use it to burn up tonight’s notes, and begin outlining their new course.

“Did I ever tell you welcome back?” It’s a non sequitur in one sense, and the only possible route in another.

It’s enough to get Saitou to lean back ever so slightly, and movement of any sort whips up wisps of adrenaline that have started to settle. Hijikata is grateful for the way it rams his blood through places where it had started to catch. It’s probably the same for Saitou. If Saitou had been stuck at all. He’s unusually good at standing in worst of the storm and letting the rain clear his veins where others would be washed away completely.

“I never truly left the Shinsengumi.” The tiny voice of confusion is charming on Saitou. It’s insightful too. Narrating the ways in which Saitou views himself as always within the gravity that keeps them all circling back to this place again and again. There is no leaving, only different cycles. Different seasons. Time with Itou was winter, not an exit for him.

“No. But you’re back all the same. So welcome home.” He places one hand on Saitou’s shoulder. There’s an instant of tightness before the muscle gives up the pretense of a fight. It’s never a bad thing to be prepared. Having something physical under his hand helps. Paper and reports are too flimsy.

“Thank you.” Those two words are not assigned to this one instance. It’s a series of memories, and he wishes he could skim them off the surface of Saitou’s eyes, but they’re too deep and all he catches is traces of each moment’s memory of the one before it. An endless string of relations webbing into the kind of warm he hopes Saitou gets to keep.

He doesn’t think _you’re welcome_ is the response Saitou wants, nor the one he needs. So he tries to formulate something else, something more fitting-

Saitou beats him to it. And he shouldn’t be surprised because Saitou is early to most things. This isn’t a bad surprise though, Saitou taking Hijikata’s hand from where it rests on his his shoulder and sliding it down his arm until their fingers end up slipping through each other. He has always known Saitou’s fingers have callouses. It’s a fact of swordsmanship, but it is only now that his mind catches on each and every one, trying to follow the rings of fingerprints back to places Saitou has been before here.

There are questions he should ask of Saitou. Things he should ask himself too.

Those get sliced off by the razor created from the way Saitou sinks into a more relaxed position. It’s a welcome of sorts. Saitou found it without Hijikata even knowing; that desire after a conflict to have someone near. They learn in this life to deprive themselves of company because a warrior has to be able to stand alone. Comrades are susceptible to death, afterall. Alone becomes easy, but together allows them to reconnect to the parts of themselves that are also responsible for getting them here.

“You’re sure you want to stay?” And by that he means _here_ specifically, his room. Because Saitou is offering to bring him back into places he has only been a handful of times. Places that are not as narrow and dark as the alleyway that took a bite out of all of them. Places that are restorative, but risky in their own right.

With Saitou he often asks himself if this is what Saitou wants, or what Saitou thinks someone else needs from him.

Those are not always different things, but sometimes they are.

“Yes.” He does get a smile from Saitou now. Just the corners of his lips lifting half a centimeter, but it’s vibrant in all the shades it picks up from the moonlight outside, and whatever is inside Saitou that lends him the kind of colors that never seem to fade.

_Yes_ is a good word to hear. It’s better than _only choice,_ and _not much improvement,_ and _ambushed._ His eardrums ache a little less because of it. So of course his hands want to find the same comfort, it’s a response he tries not to overthink. Not thinking so much is easy when there are so many other things to observe. Like the way Saitou swallows when Hijikata’s fingers brush over his neck in the process of removing his scarf. The collar bones he finds are sharpened by evening’s shadows, and so he runs his thumbs across them to see if they’ll draw blood.

They don’t. Saitou does not cut when he doesn’t choose to. There is an admirable control there. A control that dwindles slightly when Hijikata digs his nails a bit, and Saitou sighs.

The first thing Saitou reaches for is the cord holding Hijikata’s hair in a ponytail. The knot comes undone quickly, and Saitou’s hand follows his hair all the way to its ends. He doesn’t let go right away either, instead opting to tangle his fingers up. The contrast between dark hair and Saitou’s skin is a nice sight. The dilation of Saitou’s pupils is better.

He reaches towards Saitou, and Saitou meets him there. It starts more like they’re bracing against each other than it does an embrace. They push, oppositional forces striking bones into each other like flint and steel. They don’t go forward or back for several seconds. No one thinks to pull, they just lean in until Hijikata manages to get his hands free from Saitou’s and down around his waist instead.

There’s the leverage he needs, hidden between each one of Saitou’s ribs.

His palms convince Saitou to lean down and back, but Saitou’s knee pushes on his hip until they’re side by side on the ground instead of him leaning over Saitou like he originally intended. This is fine too. It gives them both the support of the floor, and a chance to catch their breath instead of catching their ribs on each other just yet. There are layers that need to go before that can happen. And they haven’t even- He should fix that.

Kissing Saitou takes some maneuvering, but he gets there. Saitou gets there. He’s off a little on his first attempt, catching an exhale and only the corner of Saitou’s mouth. Saitou remedies that, turning his head to give them the right angle to brush their lips together. He doesn’t use much force. Not yet. Rather he keeps it so light that it actually tickles. The sensation is the continuation of tiny slides and presses, rather than one big gesture. One lingers until it meets the next and the next.

Somewhere in between the minutes they place in each other’s mouths, Saitou’s hands reach for his shoulder blades, curling in towards the bone. It’s harsher than anything they’ve done yet. It will probably leave marks even through his clothes. Saitou has found the knots from stress, and untying them takes a bit more bite can be considered gentle. That’s ok.

It gives him the opportunity to run his fingertips over the upper part of Saitou’s chest. There’s the start of sweat, and the beat of Saitou’s heart knocking against Hijikata’s palm. That rhythm is the one he wishes he could command Saitou to preserve at all costs, but Saitou is a samurai down to the smallest fibers of his existence, and so the greatest thing he can wish for Saitou is that he goes in a way he can find peace in.

Morbid thoughts dressed up as planning ahead.

He pushes those aside in favor of following Saitou’s hands, which draw him to Saitou’s obi. His fingers have to drop hesitation in order to pick at fabric. Clumsiness isn’t normally something he associates with himself, but it takes Saitou’s assistance to get his fingers to focus long enough to do the work he’s asking of them. Saitou’s breath near his ear helps him time each tug until he’s able to get the kimono slipped off of Saitou’s shoulders.

Saitou finishes getting himself undressed, complete with letting his hair down.

It’s not that he expected Saitou to be overly anxious about any of this… But he’s even more comfortable than Hijikata would have guessed. Although maybe he should have, because this is Saitou afterall.

And Saitou has life experiences that tend to numb the nerves. Which isn’t the same thing as being unfeeling, because Saitou feels quite a bit. His hands tell as much. The shapes he draws on Hijikata’s skin aren’t just simple designs. They’re maps, and towns, and people. Memories and plans. A quick shiver breaks his thoughts up, before he reconnects them.

Saitou feels plenty. But when you’ve lived a life like theirs there are certain responses that happen less and less. The body tends to bargain with itself. Giving up cloudy anxiety in favor of a mind clearing adrenaline in most cases. It sells off some of its need for sleep, but has to carry a few shifts of insomnia in return…

Still, he watches Saitou take a deep breath that moves his chest, and slides beneath his ribs. Neither of them are immune to this. Whatever gravity is that insists on pulling them around each othe.. Saitou always keeps Hijikata’s fingers from slipping, but gives him a place to fall.

Reaching for Saitou’s right shoulder helps him shift Saitou onto his back. Even in his willingness there is a tension in Saitou’s body. Not a bad one. A readiness he supposes. Muscles associate quickening breaths and close proximity with a requirement for strength, for speed and anticipation. He runs his hands up and down Saitou’s arms, and maybe he means it to be soothing, but there are too many places under his fingertips to really string any clear thoughts. Saitou has carried many things, and dropped others. Picked up impossibly heavy weights, but has been forced to drop feathers.

Hands splay against his ribs, rubbing tiny circles that feel more like a sequence of vibrations than a cyclical motion. It helps shake his lungs up enough for him to exhale the remaining smoke from what burned up today. Each breath after is a little clearer, a little sweeter. The slight dig of nails through his yukata is a nice touch. Just enough to keep his skin hanging on each measure of what Saitou composes. Saitou’s forehead bumps his shoulder briefly, and that brings his line of attention from where he has been working at Saitou’s shoulders back up to his face.

In his calm sort of quiet Saitou’s intensity can sometimes hide itself. But not now. Not when he leans his head back slightly, and curve of his neck creates its own kind of pull. Reaching from Saitou’s body to him. It’s all motion in some form or another. Sharing space, sharing time. Sharing whatever can be given from lips to skin. That’s currently what he’s most interested in.

The messages he can kiss into the side of Saitou’s neck.

The words he can drop there in response to the sensation of Saitou swallowing to let him know that he is thankful, always. He uses just a bit of teeth for that, because Saitou is stubborn sometimes, and gratitude becomes more potent when it must first walk across something less than soft.

Fingers work his yukata open, pausing to brush over Hijikata’s stomach as he shrugs his clothes the rest of the way off. His breath stops for a moment. Maybe it’s the inherent vulnerability of the area, or the significance it holds in their code of conduct… The one he had to pen, has to threaten to hold his men too. Either way Saitou’s touch is welcome there, as it is anywhere. He’s gentle, but with a force that makes itself perfectly clear from one second into the next. It’s a line of conversation that ties into all the little places their bodies offer as anchors.

It dawns on him then that they’re both entirely naked at this point. The way his ribs nudge against Saitou’s, and the brush of a thigh against his hip makes that all too clear. Still it’s not as much of a shock, as it is a warmth. He has seen Saitou, and this is seeing Saitou in a new moment but with all the same familiarity and trust that has gotten them this far. That comfort keeps him moving.

While he’s at Saitou’s neck, he makes sure to attend to the pulse there. The rush of the beating isn’t entirely his doing. He’s not that vain as to try to deny the other things that have made Saitou’s blood hammer. But what he does do is press his lips there again and again, trying to confirm that each and every instant that Saitou beats for is a worthy one. That each feeling sliding from mind to blood, or blood to mind is one that he is willing to listen to.

He is stopped by Saitou’s hands running up his back until they come up and around to his face. It’s only now that he realizes that Saitou’s hands still have the smell of Souji’s medicine on them. That sinks from Saitou’s fingers into his chest. His tongue burns for second, and that might be Souji’s thanks for Saitou. There are probably things he could learn about each and every one of the guys if he looked at Saitou hard enough. Saitou keeps important things stitched inside his body, pieces of those close to him that then resonate with that person whenever they’re near him.

Saitou traces his thumbs over his cheekbones, and down along his jaw. He’s light with his index finger, then follows up with a harder sweep of his ring finger. It’s all different speeds and pressures. For as much as it could be disorienting, it creates a pleasant kind of quiet instead. Enough so that he doesn’t realize what Saitou is about to pull until after their legs are twisted together, and Saitou is rolling them over.

“You’re sneaky.” His throat tickles like laughter, but it doesn’t quite make it out. He’s too busy focusing on inhaling, trying to get enough oxygen to his brain so that he can keep Saitou in focus. Tugging on Saitou’s hair adds the punctuation he needs.

Saitou’s eyes widen ever so slightly. His words tickle Hijikata’s collar bones when they break from the previous stutter of breath, “I am sorry, I didn-”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” There are many things he doesn’t mind receiving from Saitou. An apology of any sort is entirely unnecessary. Being caught off guard in this situation is a positive experience, from Saitou’s kisses along his chest, to the fingers holding his hips down.

Saitou is very talented, and he has always known that but hasn’t quite known it the way he does now. Saitou has this way of bending and twisting his body to reach what feels like ten different places at once. He’s quick with his lips, and light with his teeth. But so firm with hands. Though, his fingers are a little jumpier than they are when wrapped around a blade. He kisses Hijikata’s hip bones until there are marks. In contrast, he barely uses any pressure at all when he reaches back to up to his chest.

There are things about Saitou he can read in this, though his mind is a little too slow to pick out the exact details. He’ll have to look back on his body tomorrow to check what Saitou left behind.

It all borders right along the edge of overwhelming if he remains still, so he reaches for one of Saitou’s hands and pulls it to his mouth. There is the the slight bitterness that goes with the earlier scent of medicine he’d noticed. It doesn’t bother him. Saitou picks up these things the way he picks up people’s respect. And for that Hijikata wants to ensure he knows he has nothing to be sorry for, and everything to take a bit of pride in. He kisses Saitou’s palm over and over again, moving up to each fingertip before running back down along his lifeline to his wrist. They both have well-worn hands, but Saitou’s shoulders jump for a second. There is still plenty of feeling there. And everywhere really.

For as many scars as he’s found on Saitou, none of them do anything to bind the person who they’ve become attached too. He lives through each one, instead of letting prior injury live through him.

“Hijikata-san?” Saitou manages a steadiness in his voice that is almost as surprising as the lack of _fukuchou._ As much as he’d like to, he won’t draw attention to the substitution. Saitou is welcome to be comfortable here without any titles. Actually, not hearing himself referred to by his position within the Shinsengumi is a pleasant reprieve. They are people underneath everything that can be lost. Rank being one of those things.

“Yes?” Speaking requires his throat to do things it isn’t really up to. That is fine though. It’s worth the effort to meet whatever Saitou wants to ask.

“What are you doing?” That sticks him in place for a moment. The obviousness of it all makes it poignantly clear what they’re doing, but he doesn’t think that that is what Saitou is asking after. Saitou has never stated, nor asked for, the obvious. There is no reason for him to do so now.

The questions Saitou asks are much harder.

And Saitou knows that, because his hands rest on Hijikata’s sides. Neither of them move around while he tries to collect his thoughts from of all the places he has dropped them onto Saitou, the floor, his desk… Picking them back up brings them into his mind out of order, and reorganizing is a whole other ordeal.

“Appreciating you.” It falls well short of everything he’s really trying to say. For all of the times he has been complimented on charisma, it doesn’t quite measure up here. But it doesn’t sting like a shortcoming when Saitou’s arms press into his back. Flashes of that first day come back, “-remembering you. You’re staying right?”

_Staying_ is an odd word choice, maybe. Of course Saitou is staying. They are years after that commitment Saitou made when he offered himself to the then-Roshigumi. And Saitou has made good on his word day after day after day. There is no reason to think that he’s going anyway, but _stay_ is still the word his mind picked.

“Is that so?” Saitou smiles, and Hijikata swears he can taste amusement on an exhale that could have been a laugh on anyone but Saitou. It’s really beautiful, Saitou is especially beautiful when he continues, “I will stay. Of course.”

“Good.” If Saitou is staying, then he can move.

He slides down a bit so that he can kiss the insides of Saitou’s legs. A heel thumps the ground, and he smiles against skin. It’s difficult for both them. Hands knot up in his hair, and he pulls on Saitou’s knees just enough to expose the backs of them. The quick shiver tells him Saitou might be a bit ticklish. So of course he continues. Goes down a little further towards calves, letting his hands massage the insides of Saitou’s thighs. Saitou has walked a long way. He deserves this break.

One tug, then two tells him Saitou would like him to come back to where they can see eye to eye. And that’s more than fine by him. Saitou’s eyes are so intimately connected to everything around them, and yet worlds away. He’d look further, but Saitou is kissing him- It’s one sensation too many, and he has to shut his eyes. There’s a snag in their kiss, lips a bit chapped. It doesn’t slow anything down. They just go, go, go.

And somewhere between here and now he ends up back underneath Saitou. His ceiling has honestly never looked better than it does as a frame for Saitou. Saitou who bends down, and meets him here, and there, and there. They find timing between bones and muscles. Saitou’s knees push at his thighs, and they make bodies fit in imperfect ways. But it works out ok, because it’s them. In between their lungs there is enough room for years of stories, and under their fingers there are promises of giving.

“Go on,” While he has definitely relinquished more control to Saitou than he has to anyone else in recent memory, there is still a permission he wants to give. One more encouragement for Saitou to enjoy himself too. For him to not put everything and everywhere into another person so that he can just be the resonating chamber for what he gives Hijikata. Equal is important.

Saitou makes a sound against his shoulder that was probably words, but they’ve been bumped around too much. Still, it makes it clear that Saitou heard him. It’s from that sound that they move into a new rhyme. One that they keep pulling out of each other. From the number of heartbeats in ten seconds. From how many times Saitou blinks in half a minute. And from the number of ways Hijikata’s fingers can grip and release.

The counting eventually falls from tangible numbers into reaching for any sort of sense. Fingers scrambling for anything that isn’t moving too fast, and minds attempting to hook onto one thread but busting the whole seam instead.

It’s a bit frantic, and a bit rough, and a bit gentle when they finish with their lips still sliding against each other and against sound.

They haven’t managed to banish the heaviness of today. They haven’t created a miracle salve for the wounds in and on their friends. There is no righting of the path they wanted to walk, and the bridge is still swinging in that precarious way that threatens to dump them off at any time… To sink and drown the Shinsengumi in the river of history with nothing but maybe their names catching on the rocks to be seen by those who pass by years later. Those challenges do not move simply because they did.

They didn’t set out to alter any of those things.

They accomplished the help Saitou had wanted to give, and the acceptance Hijikata had wanted to swallow. That is more than he could have hoped for in and of itself. But those things weren’t the only things they gained. There are places all over his body that can tell him Saitou’s hours, and he has given Saitou the same marks to read about him. Years together in battle and in home have taught them plenty. There is never enough time to learn everything. But if you’re lucky you learn enough.

Hijikata counts himself as fortunate, “You always exceed expectations, you know that right?”

Saitou rolls from his back to his side. Some of the color on his cheeks might be new. Direct compliments are still something they need to practice, but Saitou manages, “I do my best to provide everything you and the Shinsengumi deserve.”

“Thank you,” Hijikata doesn’t think there will ever be a response fitting of everything in between each one of Saitou’s words. Turning the compliment back towards Saitou would sound like an automatic response, and deflecting the gravity of it would ignore just how much is being given. So _thank you_ is the closest he can come. _Thank you_ and another squeeze of Saitou’s fingers in his.

“You should rest, Hijikata-san.” Gentle circles are drawn onto the back of his hand. Saitou’s sleepy himself, so naturally he puts Hijikata’s need to rest first. It’s a pattern that is marked letter by letter in Saitou’s veins. It will not change, that unique brand of kindness.

“After you,” He tugs their clothing up to cover them. It’s amusing that they hadn’t made it far from his desk. They’d stayed within the orbit of all his thoughts, and his work, but carved out a place in all of that.

Saitou’s mouth opens like he might counter Hijikata’s last comment. He doesn’t. Instead he shuts his mouth and his eyes.

Hijikata counts to three before Saitou’s face relaxes from thoughts towards sleep. It is in Saitou’s pull towards rest that he can finally breathe in the first signs of a decent night’s sleep.

The kind of sleep that will allow him to face tomorrow with the strength he pieces together from both himself and those around him.

Saitou spent tonight helping him to reinforce the threads he uses to hold them all together.

Tomorrow he can use that weaving as bandages, blankets, and bindings to tend to their comrades, their friends.

It’s a healing process, not a solution. They might never quite reach the end of it.

He might bring imperfect bandages that they will bleed through. And the blankets may have some holes in them… But it’s something. Not everything, but the hope is what he can give is more than what he can’t.

~~~

Being woken up by gentle pats on the shoulder from an already-dressed Saitou catches him somewhere between startled and relieved. Last night is all over him, the sun hasn’t managed to burn it away in the short time since sunrise. That’s encouraging. Hijikata would like to keep as much of it as he can. Saitou still being here as he wakes assists in that solidification. His hand on Hijikata cauterizes the first slice morning tried to make, and now his memories have nowhere to go but back into his blood.

Forgetting has always been one of his worst fears. Losing without even having the outline of what has been taken. Discomfort is better than oblivion anyday.

“Morning,” It’s slightly more difficult to summon his usual level of voice at this hour. His tongue is still a bit clumsy, trying to find the first syllable and maneuver it in front of the last. “I didn’t know if you were going to stay the night.”

It had been always entirely up to Saitou either way.

“Should I have left?” Saitou reaches to his side to hand Hijikata a pile of folded clothing. He’s just as fluid in this as he is in most tasks. There are no signs of offense in his question to trip either of them.

“No, you’re fine.” Saitou’s presence is welcome in whatever capacity he chooses. Hijikata will never kick him out. So quickly after the moment he arrived at Shiekan he earned the right to pass through doorways without explicit permission. Everything is already hammered out in assurances created by footsteps and sword swings.

Getting dressed is slightly more labor intensive than getting undressed, especially without a second pair of hands. The light of today at least does something to warm his back against the stiffness that set during during his night on the floor. A bit of poor planning on their part, but compared to the stakes involved in every other mistake he could make this is too minor to register as more than a single drop of inconvenience. The futon’s comfort wouldn’t have been any more comfortable than Saitou himself.

“I would like to show you something, if you are willing.” Hijikata follows Saitou’s eyes to the door. Maybe Saitou has already been up and about this morning. There is something he’s already got folded into today’s clothing that feels like a surprise that Hijikata won’t mind seeing. If it were something grave Saitou would come right out with what it is. Everyone here is committed to that kind of honesty.

“Of course.” The agreement travels from his mouth to his legs, helping him to his feet to follow Saitou. He’s still not quite up to demon-vice commander standards with the speed in which he ties up his hair, and tries to put himself together. Presentation is important for reputation, but he doubts Saitou is about to lead him anywhere where that would be held against him. Souji maybe, but Saitou has never used those types of tactics.

The speed Saitou walks at should make more noise than it does. His eagerness is quiet, as is his face when he looks over his shoulder and waits for Hijikata to catch up on their way out the door. The silence in the halls could be eerie, hell knows there has been enough blood brought in on stretchers and swords to last them a while… But it’s not. Not with company. Making his morning rounds alone is when questions usually stalk him down the halls. _Who’s doing what, who does he need to keep home, where are they going next, how many graves might he need._ Planning ahead isn’t so kind, but he’s fresh out of seconds to put on future reserve. It will take time to reaccumulate those.

Saitou stops in front of a familiar door, and pauses while stepping slightly to the side.

_Open it._

He wants to question why Saitou brought him _here_ first thing in the morning. Wants to ask if Saitou has already been here today, because otherwise there is no way of knowing just what he’s about to pull the veil away from. But Saitou is quiet, and Saitou is steady. So he keeps his mouth shut and his hand firm when he slides the door open. He blinks a few times before really trying to take in the scene laid out in front of him. Delaying the inevitable has never helped, but he wants to be sure what he sees the first time is correct. Trying to repaint over a mistake of memory leaves blotches that flake and itch when they’re dry. Your eyes never quite forget what came first, nor the correction your mind tries to make. It’s too many layers to fight with.

“Look,” He nearly misses Saitou’s whisper, but the relative quiet all around cups its fingers around Hijikata’s ears to amplify what vibrations are at play.

Finally, he lets himself look. Lets himself take everything in at once, it will be what it will be-

And it’s ok.

He’s ok.

Heisuke that is.

Heisuke is sleeping soundly on a futon, with Shinpachi and Harada on either side of him. There is a rise and fall created by the gentle effort of lungs, and the bed is empty of ash. There’s brown hair and no blood remaining from last night. When Heisuke wakes, he’ll be Heisuke. Not the exact person he had been. The ochimizu promises that much. But he’s hasn’t become something that needs put down, and Hijikata is thankful for that. Grateful for Shinpachi and Harada’s guardianship as well.

“He made it.” Letting his lips choose those words to speak is freeing. It gives a verbal sign to the reality in room.

Saitou nods, “We are not so fragile, Fukuchou.”

That’s not an accusation. Not a strike against his concern, rather it’s to reinforce his confidence in these men. That they’re not leaving just yet. Their lives are often sort, but they are a little bit different from the petals poetry stuffs in their mouths and eyes.

They don’t die as soon as they fall off the tree. Or when they hit the ground. Or even when they’re stepped on.

It’s worth noting that Heisuke’s blankets are coiled around him as if he spent the night fighting himself. The cloth that was once on his forehead is in a limp pile near Shinpachi’s hand. It’s not as if this is a perfect gift with no strings attached. There are shadows under his closed eyes, and a slight frown on his lips. The muscles in his arm shake just a bit. Probably nightmares. Or memories of violent change using his body as a playground. Shinpachi and Harada wear marks of their struggle too. Wounds from Heisuke’s violence and the violence done to Heisuke. But they’re all there. Practically in a pile.

Living.

“You guys have always fought well.” There is a couple thousand more things he could say. He doesn’t. This is simple enough, and it’s spoken in their terms. Their code. Saitou will understand just what he means. Just as Saitou understood why he needed to see this before everything else. A night away from worry isn’t a fix, but it had been a transition. A way to walk his mind through a maze created by certain kinds of comfort until he was ready.

“We are inspired to do our best.” Saitou steps further into the room, but only after letting his arm brush against Hijikata’s. He bends down to straighten the blanket out over idiots 1, 2, and 3. Now, Heisuke’s legs won’t be bound when he wakes. Thinking ahead towards the little details is a very Saitou thing to do.

He could question Saitou on what exactly inspires them, inspires him in particular. That is too much digging though. He’s seen enough to make his guesses, and he’ll leave it there for now. When it’s time to know more, he’ll be shown that. Told that. Given that. Whatever the prefered method of transfer is the next time around. Gifts are not to be assumed as periodically recurring. So he’ll wait.

Time is not an ally, and maybe that is because of the way they make it run. Always fleeing from them, or chasing after them.

It could be easy to get lost. To get trapped between then and here and someday.

That is why he chooses to keep company with men who pin themselves to a dream which can be shredded to pieces and bound around individual wrists, but is still recognizable as _theirs._

Saitou’s signature is at the forefront of that pact.

**Author's Note:**

> First thing I've actually finished since University has been trying to kill me. Cal's birthday is an excellent motivator.


End file.
